It's Funnier In French
by Texan Red Rose
Summary: Hoping to confess her feelings, Blake brings Weiss to a rooftop in Paris. However, she... gets a bit tongue tied in the process.


**Disclaimer** : Thank you maburito for helping me with this. Just some Monochrome fluff with a less-than-smooth Blake.

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Blake drew in a surreptitious breath as she climbed up the fire escape to the rooftop, highly aware of the woman following in her wake. Strange, she thought, that only four months had passed since she found the German huddled in the alleyway behind her bookstore, yet here they were, standing atop the rooftops of Paris and taking a moment to marvel at the bright lights below. She wanted to take Weiss to the countryside, so she could see the stars better, but this would have to do until she could take a proper vacation. Given the wide blue eyes of her companion and the little smile on her lips, she doubted the other woman was inclined to complain.

"Do you like the view?" Her German had greatly improved, at least to her mind- if the other woman had complaints, she kept them to herself, and there really weren't any others who could give an opinion- but she focused more on her companion's expression instead of her own pronunciation.

"It's beautiful," Weiss replied in her native tongue, white hair stirred ever so slightly by the late fall wind swirling around them. They both wore coats and scarfs to protect against the chill, though the German had second-hand ones a size too big she'd purchased during her escape from the country to the east.

For a moment, the Parisian considered taking the other woman's hand in hers and leading her, but her nerves got the better of her and she settled for lightly grasping the elbow of her sleeve, a small smile on her lips. "Come. There's more to see."

She lead Weiss over to a slanted part of the roof that faced the L'Arc de Triomphe in the distance, all lit up with cars swirling around it like a current, the dull drone punctuated occasionally by far off shouts or other sounds. Pulling the backpack from her shoulders, Blake unpacked a blanket and spread it out for them to lay upon, a bottle of cheap white wine with two glasses quickly following, and a block of cheese for them to nibble on while they watch night descend on the city. It wasn't much but, what with rent being hiked up again and the fiasco last month, it was the best the bookstore owner could afford on such a tight budget. As they settled down, a few inches separating their shoulders, she found herself wondering what her companion did back in her homeland on nights like this, how she must've picked out her favorite hill on the family's sprawling estate to star gaze from while drinking the finest wine from the Rhine, bread and cheese on the side, and maybe even a dessert the Parisian couldn't begin to pronounce for later. It seemed like a poor attempt at mimicking something meaningful to the woman but Blake wanted the night to be special.

One would think, after all the books she'd read, she would have better ideas for romantic overtures.

"Are you cold?" She asked, wincing slightly at what she felt to be a painfully obvious question. The climates of their homelands weren't so dissimilar that she would feel any colder or warmer than the Parisian yet Blake had asked anyway. A blush started rising in her cheeks as she mentally cursed her foolishness.

"I would normally consider weather like this pleasant." The German hummed, shifting slightly closer. "But I'm a little cold for some reason."

"I… forgot to bring another blanket," she replied, feeling her hopes bolstered as she moved, inviting the other woman to use her shoulder as a pillow. "Perhaps… if we lay closer together?"

Blake considered, very briefly, that the pinch to the other woman's brow spoke of an impending rejection, but Weiss quickly scooted even closer and pressed against her side, helping situate the Parisian's arm around her shoulders with a hand on her wrist that didn't let go once they were comfortable in the new position. That certainly improved her mindset, made confessing- which, ultimately, was her goal tonight- a more tangible reality. Ever since they'd met- the beleaguered bookstore owner and the homeless runaway in the early morning light- she'd found herself being drawn further and further into those bottomless blue eyes, at first irked by the woman's confrontational nature before recognizing it for the defense mechanism it was. The months they'd spent working side-by-side in the bookstore were filled with trying times and hopefulness, homesickness warring with a desire for freedom in the German while Blake found herself caught between falling in love with cutting wit and quiet kindness in equal measure. They learned each other's language together, the rolling smoothness of her native tongue juxtaposed with harsh consonants, sometimes feeling as those her uncooperative tongue objected hotly to forming such strange words.

Most of the time, though, it simply had no words to give because all it took was a look from Weiss to wipe her mind clean of any and all language save the rhythmic beating of her heart with her quickened pulse.

"Paris is beautiful- in the daytime and at night," the German said, this time in French and it never failed to make her heart flutter hearing her mother tongue spoken with such care. Practice would make her better, she'd said, and though Blake tried to speak the harsher language frequently enough so she wouldn't feel so out of place among the streets of Paris, her companion often switched back to get a little more practice when they were alone. "Is your hometown like this?"

"N-no." She swallowed, trying to keep herself under control. "A smaller town without as many lights, but it has its own sort of beauty."

"Would you want to go back?"

"To visit, yes. I miss my parents." Unbidden, the image of herself stepping off the train to see her mother and father, their expressions twisting into one of delighted surprise as they saw their daughter's hand interlinked with Weiss' came to her mind. Her parents would absolutely love the German, she would bet on it. "But I love Paris. This is where I was born; it's my home." Silence followed her words and she found herself grasping at straws, desperately wanting the conversation to continue. They'd spent so much time learning about language, books, and streets, there were still so many questions remaining as to who they were, or who they were trying to become- the bookstore owner dreaming of romance and paperbacks and the runaway searching for a life in a new country. "Would… you ever consider going back? To Germany?"

She held her breath, hoping she hadn't overstepped an invisible boundary between them. For the whole first month, any mention of her former homeland brought forth a pained expression and a biting remark, half the time muttered and too quick for her to catch. That attitude seemed to change in tandem with the healing of the scar marring her left eye, both becoming less angry. In the last few weeks, Weiss had made little comments, referencing places she'd known as a child, experiences she'd had, all tied to that life she'd left behind. Blake had already told as much as there was to tell about her own past, and this seemed like an unequal barrier between them that she wanted to ease away.

"I have considered it," Weiss said slowly, taking a deep breath before releasing it slowly. "I think you would like the Rhine in spring and the markets of _München_. I think you might particularly like _Neuschwanstein_ Castle in the winter, too. My family often traveled around the south; it would be nice to visit those places again." She paused. "But if I live the rest of my days without returning to that house or that town… I am at peace with that."

Although the melancholy of the woman's tone concerned her, she picked up on something she considered rather noteworthy. "The way you said that makes it sound like you only want to go back if I'm there, too."

"I have no reason to go back otherwise." Weiss shifted, blue eyes finding amber. "This is my home now."

The Parisian felt her heart leap into her throat, caught in the other woman's gaze even as the blush in her cheeks rose- it had to be noticeable now. She wanted to inquire further- what made Paris home, was it the streets and bakeries and vendors or was it the smell of paper and ink- but her tongue would not cooperate beyond an unsteady response. "That- yes. Well. I'd love to go. With you, of course. To Germany. Or my hometown. Or the Americas."

One pale brow arched up, a smile coming to her companion's face. "The Americas? Really?"

"They have some wonderful authors, and sights." Trying to get her bearings, her eyes darted past the German's visage to the sky above. "I wonder if their sky is different than ours."

Weiss hummed, settling back against the Parisian's side and turning her gaze skywards as well. "It's sad, isn't it? That the light city has so few stars above it?"

"Well, there's a reason for that," she said, entirely ready to explain about light pollution and her disdain for the man-made lights that illuminated the city instead of the natural beauty of the night sky, but when Blake felt her companion's head turn the same time she moved hers, those stunning blue eyes capturing her once more, the scientific explanation completely flew from her brain, and she instead said the first thing that came to mind. "Your father is a thief. He stole all the stars in the sky to put in your eyes."

Did… did she just…?

Heat suffused her cheeks, going all the way to the tips of her ears as she mentally screeched in impotent rage at her own poor choices. Why? _Why_? Of all the things she could've said, she chose the single most cliched, most widely derided, most painfully _obviously insincere_ phrase in the whole world? Nothing she said after this would matter- no one could take a person who had the absolute _gall_ to utter that line seriously in any sense, least of all romantically. How could she-

A laugh like the tinkling of bells, so rare when it lacked the sarcastic bite of the woman's humor or the self derision, rang out through the air, pulling the Parisian's attention away from her mental tirade. "Would that he could be so kind. No, the stars you see were put there by someone else."

Blake waited a moment, unsure if the unspoken question was rhetorical or not, if she was about to be ridiculed for her poor choice of words, but curiosity got the better of her. "Then… who?"

"You," Weiss replied, pushing herself up and turning so she was hovering over the Parisian. "When I was lost, you found me. You held my hand in the darkness, you supported me when I stumbled, you taught me what I didn't know; if I have any light in my eyes at all, it's because you put it there." She paused, pressing her lips into a thin line for a moment before leaning down, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Blake's mouth. "Thank you."

The last two words, whispered as she pulled away, hurt just a bit. Was it just gratitude and nothing else the German felt towards her? She tried looking into the woman's eyes, but she'd turned her head away almost immediately…

"Paris… it isn't only known as the light city, you know." She waited until Weiss was watching her out of the corner of her eye before continuing. "It's also the city of love. I think light and love- they're similar, are they not? Tied together, the one feeding into the other." Now she had the other woman's full attention, tongue darting out to wet her lips as her blush returned in full force. "What I'm trying to say is… if I'm the one who put the light in your eyes, it's because you gave the light to me first. Your presence made it grow and now I can give it back to you." She reached up, her movements slow and deliberate to allow the German more than ample time to draw away. The woman didn't, though, allowing Blake to cup her jaw, thumb brushing just beneath the apple of her cheek and the end of the now fully healed scar. "I'd like to think the love in my heart helped put the light in your eyes…"

"I'd like to think I've done the same." Weiss spoke softly, leaning into her touch.

"Then be my sky, my stars and my moon." With the barest hints of pressure, she pulled the other woman closer, leaning up in the same motion. "Be the light in my eyes as I give you the love in my heart. Be mine, and I'll be yours."

Blake didn't get a verbal response, surprised instead when the German leaned forward the rest of the way, their lips meeting in a tender kiss that had her eyes fluttering closed and electricity singing through her veins. For a few brief moments, nothing else existed besides the other, locked in an embrace that seemed a long time coming despite the brevity of their acquaintanceship. When they parted, their eyes met and neither could hide their smiles nor the rosy tint to their cheeks.

They laid there together, soaking in the ambiance of the Parisian night, eventually opening the wine bottle and pouring it into the glasses. "To us, Blake."

"To us- and a new life together."

Glass clinked and the two snuggled up close, combating the chill of the evening with quiet conversation and idle warmth.

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AN: … Okay, so, some quick things. München is the German… name, I guess… for what most of the world calls Munich. (It confused the hell out of me when I lived there.) Neuschweinstein Castle- also known as the castle from which Cinderella's Castle draws its inspiration, or the Fairytale Castle- is def a place Blake would want to visit, and probably Ruby too. (And it's breathtaking in the fall and winter.) "Ton père est un voleur. Il a volé toutes les étoiles du ceil pour les mettre dans tes yeux." is a really famous and ridiculous pick up line that translates to "Your father is a thief. He stole all the stars in the sky to put in your eyes." which I'm assured by Mab would never be taken seriously by a French person, hence Blake's freakout. Thankfully, Weiss is German. (Also, not gonna lie, this shit would totally work on me.) But, if you were wondering what the title references, it's that line in particular. Now, if I got anything wrong, that's on me, because I lived in the Bavaria region of Germany for only 2 years and I never went to Paris myself (I ain't fucking fancy enough for that). I tried to write it from the perspective of someone who's… like… actually lived in Paris, though, so I tried.


End file.
